


Elocution

by sadsparties



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Bad Puns, Gen, Speeches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:26:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras tries a new form of rhetoric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elocution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hamstr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamstr/gifts).



Combeferre kept watch. More accurately, he stood guard. Sitting beside him and fixatedly studying a note was Enjolras. They were in a different corner of Paris, one where tales of unwelcome brawls were too frequently told. Combeferre had thought to bring additional men, but Bahorel had assured that nothing of the sort would ensue. These were good men, he said, men who shared their republican sentiments and with a little push, would join their alliance readily. Still, Combeferre was not appeased. He posed rigidly and examined every face in the room. Should a riot ensue, they were two against fifteen.

"I am ready," Enjolras said.

Combeferre nodded solemnly. If anyone could stir revolutionary zeal from the people, it would be Enjolras. He had prepared for this for weeks. It will go well. With a final squeeze of his shoulder, Combeferre led him to the platform. There, Enjolras faced the brooding workers, stood with hands at his sides, and spoke.

It was more like a band of war drums than a speech. Enjolras’s voice rose with conviction and his body followed suit. It looked as if he would soar. The immediate reaction was unanimous. Each man stood at attention with their chests heaving, as if their hearts were slowly being lifted to planes unknown. Combeferre felt a deep ringing in his ears. This was good. They were making a good impression.

"Let not our freedom be dampened by a king’s reign."

Combeferre blinked.  _Dampened_  by a king’s  _reign_? Did he just —

"We must be  _watchful_ , for a glorious  _spectacle_  is near."

There it was again. Lost in the euphoria, Combeferre did not deem it necessary to listen to Enjolras’s words. They had been giving the same address to different circles, with the same cold logic and straight facts that have unfailingly worked in their favour. Perhaps, Enjolras was attempting to adopt a more colourful rhetoric, or change their message for the specific audience. Either way, he was clearly making puns.

"The baker makes as much as he  _needs_ ," he said. “The butcher thinks the _stakes_  are too high," he continued. “They will sit on a chair, and there they will remain. They are safe, secure, and content, but they know in their hearts what they are not. They are not free. Look within yourselves! Find the  _time_  to reflect on what truly  _counts_ , and you will realize that a world without despots, not the safety of slow depravity, is true liberty.”

As this surreal, ethereal experience continued, Combeferre’s eyes lingered on the table and found the note that Enjolras had so meditated over in the moments prior. On the paper, hastily written with random blots of ink and rejected phrases, was Courfeyrac’s unmistakable scrawl. Combeferre found himself pinching the bridge of his nose.

With a shower of applause, Enjolras stepped off the platform and moved to Combeferre’s side. Seeing him with a grave face, Enjolras ventured to ask, “How did I do?"

Combeferre removed his gaze from the various homophones of the word “steak” and replied, “It was truly…  _well done_.”

**Author's Note:**

> For Hammy :) I know nothing of French so sorry for the English puns.


End file.
